


100 Words: Faking the Truth

by HanaSheralHaminail



Series: 100 Words [3]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fake Marriage, Fluff, Fun, Green Card, Love, M/M, Romance, Sweet, Wedding, and so does the crew, basically jim and spock get married, but not really, but then they have to go through the green card test, proposal, this will be, with some family drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-10-19 16:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17604623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanaSheralHaminail/pseuds/HanaSheralHaminail
Summary: In the wake of their bonding, Jim proposes to Spock - in the traditional Vulcan way - and preparations are made for their wedding. But it appears the two have made an error in judgement when they neglected to disclose their romantic involvement to Starfleet. What happens when Starfleet decides their relationship is fabricated and sends judges to test its veracity?-This story is part of a series; it begins after Star Trek Beyond and will follow Spock and Jim's relationship through the years, much like The Original Series did! There will be away missions, stand-alone episodes and story arcs. The first installment is called '100 Words: A beginning'However, this one can be read as a stand-alone!





	1. Giving

**Author's Note:**

> So it appears I'm back!  
> I have BrynPoo to thank for this, especially, they've been an awesome support!  
> Hopefully you'll find this section a lighter one compared with the previous two... I thought I might give these poor characters some respite before the second five-year mission begins and we delve deep into Tos territory!
> 
> So... a huge thank you to all who will return to this story, and my apologies for being so late...!
> 
> Please, enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jim proposes to Spock via a complicated Vulcan ritual.

**_1_ **

**_Giving_ **

 

The first thing Sarek did when he let Kirk into his Earth apartment at the Vulcan embassy was ask: “Why isn’t my son with you?”

Which, well, Jim could understand – Spock _had_ promised he would come visit. But it had been less than four days since they’d all gotten back to San Francisco. Hardly enough time to warrant such an aggressive, if still cold, tone (for the sharp line of the Ambassador’s left eyebrow was a telling sign the human had learned to recognise perfectly).

“Firstly, Bones is keeping him home till he recovers. Secondly, it so happens, on very rare occasions, that he and I exist in different spaces. Thirdly, he’s preparing a lecture to give at the Academy on Monday.”

The Vulcan stepped back, crossing his arms low over his belly, and gave a curt nod, thankfully accepting his explanation without enquiring further. He led the Captain into the living room, where Saavik and Michael were playing a game of Go; they both waved at him distractedly, then returned to staring at the board.

Sarek gestured for him to sit, but when Jim shook his head a little, the Ambassador merely arched an eyebrow, clearly the Vulcan equivalent of _suit yourself,_ and again he did not insist. “How may I be of assistance?”

Kirk took a deep breath. The house smelled of spices and antique books, a scent vaguely reminiscent to that which still hung in his First Officer’s quarters; somehow, it gave him a boost of courage. Checking to see that the bond was safely shielded – as they had agreed for the time being – he finally voiced the reason why he had sought the Vulcan out: “I want to ask Spock to marry me.”

Behind him, Michael let out an excited cry, dropping the game to turn towards them. Sarek, far from looking surprised, merely offered the Captain a smug upturning of the corners of his mouth. “Are you asking for his hand? That is an outdated human practice,” he said, though it was evident he was pleased by the developments. “Moreover, I believe you are already bonded.”

“How do you…?” Jim began, save deciding he truly did not wish to broach the subject. “Never mind.” He cleared his throat, letting his gaze wander over the many ancient artefacts displayed about the wide room. “I need you to tell me how it’s done,” he explained. “I mean, traditionally, on Vulcan.”

“I have sensed the bond the moment it formed,” the Ambassador told him after a beat of silence. “Needless to say, I wholly support your union.”

Kirk, who had not been expecting such high praise from the stern Vulcan, let out a huff of a laugh, relief painted on his face for everyone to see. “That’s… that’s awesome. Thanks.”

He smiled widely, then, as Saavik tiptoed by Sarek’s side and pulled at his long sleeve to catch his attention. “Sarek?” she called in a satisfied little tone. “We _won_.” There was a strange glint in her eyes that had the human take a step forward to examine it further.

“So it appears,” the Ambassador conceded.

Confused, the Captain frowned at the two of them, hoping one would explain. “What is she talking about?”

“We had a bet going on,” Michael piped in cheerfully, jumping to her feet; she picked a pear from a china bowl and offered it to Kirk, who took it without a word. “Which of you two would propose first. Saavik and I bet on you.”

Here Sarek let out the most minuscule, invisible of sighs. “I, however, had more faith in my son,” he admitted, letting his eldest daughter curl both arms around his elbow.

“I’ll… make sure Spock never knows,” Jim said dazedly, imagining his beloved’s outrage at being the centre of a bet, of all things – it was bad enough that it happened frequently on the Enterprise, he didn’t need his family to join in the practice too. “Anyway. Can you help me?”

“I would be most pleased to assist you in this,” the Ambassador assured him. Again, he indicated the human should sit, and this time Kirk smiled and did so. “Spock will be happy,” Sarek added, almost as an afterthought. “Very much so.”

* * *

The first two gifts went by unnoticed, but Jim had been expecting them to.

They were cooking together inside Leonard’s kitchen – or better, Kirk was cooking while Spock watched, occasionally poking his fingers here and there to snatch a taste. The human would have never thought his bondmate would be so childish around food, but he found it extremely endearing, and also a little humbling that he would feel so at ease in his presence to loosen up that much.

In the past week, the Vulcan had gained a little of his weight back, and he looked healthier, cheeks fuller and eyes brighter as they hung on his companion with a kind of warmth that spoke of home. He sat by the table and read aloud bits and pieces of his newest lecture so the Captain could comment on it, and his voice was clear and steady, full of life as he swirled his hands around in those measured gestures of his, in the vague sense of excitement that filtered through the shielded bond.

Jim loved him so very much.

According to traditions that dated back millennia before Surak had even been born, if one wished to court a Vulcan they should prove they could provide for their intended: because of this, they should bring the gift of water and the gift of food, for the desert was terrible and unforgiving, a vast expanse of burning reds it was far to easy to get lost in. And water was rare and precious – so precious that when the ancient tribes thought of a name for _t’hy’la_ , they bastardised the word that used to mean _oasis_ – while food was the fruit of one’s labour and toil and cunning.

The human smiled as he placed a colourful glass of clear water in front of his love, letting the very tips of his fingers brush by Spock’s as he automatically reached for his drink, and then he swirled away to tend to the pots and pans on the mostly-unused stove. Bones wasn’t the type to cook much, even though he tried his best for Joanna when she was around, but Jim found a special kind of peace in putting together a meal by himself. It gave him security.

He had known hunger, and he understood the beauty, the importance of cooking for another; sometimes he thought the Vulcan got it too – after all, they shared a mindlink – but in a different way: to Spock it was an intimate thing, a show of familiarity and care, which he cherished but to which he had by now grown accustomed, ever since that first shore leave they had taken together more than a year before. He wouldn’t question it further, nor would it ever occur to him to trace the gesture back to the ancient traditions.

As he carefully stirred the smooth orange soup he had learned to recreate to perfection, the human anticipated his beloved’s surprise once he finally connected the dots and came to a logical conclusion.

“What are you thinking of so deeply, _ashayam_?”

The gentle question startled him out of his musings, and he turned to offer Spock another smile. “Nothing, babe, just lunch,” he cheerfully answered. It wasn’t precisely a lie, anyway. “Would you like me to pick you up at the Academy, later?”

“That would be agreeable,” the Vulcan said, sipping thoughtfully at his water. He set down the Padd he had been reading from and looked at his t’hy’la with a raised eyebrow. “Where will you be?”

“I’m taking Jo-Jo to watch a movie and then I have a few errands to run.”

Spock nodded and walked up to him to steal a chaste kiss before he began to set the table, and it seemed to Jim as if they’d been practicing that simple routine for a decade instead of the odd week, and he wondered at how far they’d come, how different things were from that day when the Vulcan instructor had brought him up to trial for beating his unbeatable test; he would have never imagined they’d end up like this, together, sharing spaces and minds and lives.

“This day next month marks seven years since we have met,” Spock told him quite out of the blue, unknowingly echoing his thoughts. “It has been… an eventful journey.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Kirk pressed his lips to the Vulcan’s forehead, then took a seat in front of him. “Five years in space and we are back on Earth in one piece.”

“Indeed. I am grateful for it, and for you.” It was… easy, the way he said it, mouth curved upwards a little as he tangled their legs under the table, and the Captain beamed at him, cherishing the warmth and spontaneity of that so readily offered feeling. “I find myself illogically hopeful for the future that awaits us.”

Jim squeezed his hand tightly. If there was one thing he had ardently wished to impart upon his t’hy’la was the sentiment of hope – and to have it reflected in his transparent eyes with no shame or hesitation was more than he would have ever dared ask for.

After that, they ate their meal in silence, enjoying each other’s presence, and Kirk planned his proposal.

* * *

So Jim hadn’t exactly lied – Joanna _was_ watching a movie, after all, sitting with Demora on a pile of pillows scattered all over Sulu’s living room. The two girls were sharing a bowl of animal-shaped cookies, squealing excitedly at the screen and only occasionally turning to demand the adults’ attention.

Kirk watched them out of the corner of his eye, uncharacteristically keeping his distance as he spoke with the Sulus in hushed tones – not trusting Jo-Jo to keep her quiet if she was let in on the secret, he had decided to leave her in the dark, even if he was frequently assigned to baby-sitting duties because Bones was too much of a workaholic to spend his shore leave resting. “So… can you help me? I really can’t knit.”

Hikaru laughed brightly, ignoring the dirty look his Captain sent him, and clapped his back, leaning across his husband to collect a drink of water.

Vulcan tradition demanded the third gift be _something woven_. In the past it was common to present precious robes as courtship tokens, but the practice had faded long before the Industrial Revolution, leaving virtually nothing for a human to work on. Still, Jim was nothing if not resourceful, and he knew perfectly well how fond Spock was of the sweaters his mother used to knit for him: they were worn and battered – well-loved, one could say – and the Vulcan took special care of them to ensure they endured.

They kept him warm, which appealed to his logical sensibilities, and they held sentimental value, making them the perfect courting gift and a wonderful surprise for his bondmate.

“I think I can have it ready in a week,” Ben told him with a shrug, smiling softly at his daughter when she waved at him before pointing at the screen; then he focused back on Kirk: “If you tell me how you want it.”

A colourful smile lit Jim’s face as he grasped his hand enthusiastically. “Great! I owe you one!” He pulled out his Padd and showed him the sketches he had doodled that morning while Spock meditated, then dumped a selection of silver and blue Vulcan wool on the sofa. “Here are his measurements, Michael gave them to me, and if you need anything just message me, okay? I guess it shouldn’t be too difficult, right? Hikaru told me you’ve done much more complicated patterns, and this one is half-terran so, I mean, it should be fine?”

He was letting his mouth run, but it struck him all of a sudden how _real_ it was – how a little over than three months before he wasn’t even sure Spock was alive or dead, and now they were bonded and Jim was going to _propose_. It was as far from the future he had envisioned for himself as water from fire, and yet it fit; so completely, it fit, and he was eager and grateful and shocked that he might be allowed this, that he – they – had survived so much and had somehow managed to find each other in the midst of it all.

His cheeks hurt from how wild his grin had grown.

Again, Hikaru laughed at him, catching on to his elated mood. “So… when’s the wedding gonna be?” he asked, interrupting his babbling.

Kirk frowned, pursed his lips. “He hasn’t said yes yet, you know.”

Both Sulus raised their eyebrows at him in clear disbelief, and the Captain chuckled at the sight of their amusement – it wasn’t that he worried Spock would refuse him, but he couldn’t very well make that kind of decision alone.

“So, when?”

“Shore leave ends in four months. I was thinking before that, but we’ll have to figure it out together,” Jim said, hoping to appease their curiosity. Anyhow, they couldn’t get married on the ship during the mission – it would be unprofessional for one, and after how gracious Sarek had been about the whole accidental bonding affair it wouldn’t do to provoke his wrath by not inviting him to the ceremony.

“You’ll need one hell of a team to make it in time,” Ben mused. “It took me and Karu six months and a half just for the planning part.”

Jim had thought of that, but there was no alternative. “Speaking of which, Hikaru… Do you think you could arrange the flowers or something?”

“It’d be my pleasure.”

* * *

The first thing Spock said when his t’hy’la presented him with the soft sweater a week later was: “Jim… I do not understand.”

Bones had finally discharged them from house arrest, so they’d moved to Kirk’s apartment with its unused rooms and missing furniture and gorgeous view of San Francisco’s bay. Since their leave was to be a long one, they had agreed to begin the painstakingly long process of working on the place so it looked more like a living space and less like a storage compartment.

The amount of junk Jim had managed to accumulate throughout the years, considering he’d spent most of them on the Enterprise, was fairly ridiculous, but Spock sifted through it graciously, and after a day or two they had sorted most of it out. Soon the apartment was deemed habitable even by Vulcan standards, and they collected pictures of the stars and the desert and a few of the planets they’d visited and hung them all over, and it was so much like them, and for the first time in his life Kirk found the idea of home reflected in the walls surrounding him.

It was glorious.

The human had never seen his bondmate so relaxed, or so pleased; be it the fact that they were undeniably off-duty, or maybe that he was at last completely secure in their relationship, Spock seemed to have fallen prey of a state of perpetual delight that not even Leonard’s unprompted medical examinations could damage. Jim found it extremely charming.

All things considered, he might have expected a more enthusiastic response when he sprung his gift on him, but he knew from experience just how graceless the Vulcan was at receiving presents, and so the flat confusion he was shown did not bother him in the slightest.

“This is unnecessary.”

Jim smiled, undeterred, and offered him the bundle of warm wool, privately enjoying how delicately his bondmate took it from him. “Why? Yours are all ruined,” the Captain said smoothly, hoping to win him over with simple logic. “I made it just for you – well, actually, _Ben Sulu_ made it. I only designed it.”

He gently coaxed Spock into spreading the sweater apart before his chest, so they could inspect the silvery pattern woven onto the dark blue background: a fine collection of stars and planets followed the line of the neck, dipping down along the arms until the hems of the sleeves. It was very elegant.

“I think it would look awesome on you,” Jim added casually, meeting the Vulcan’s eyes even as he tried to shy away from his gaze. “So do you like it?” 

Spock cleared his throat, and there was the lightest of green blushes to dust his nose and cheeks as he traced a finger along the little woollen galaxies. “ _Ashayam_ , there was no need for you to go to such lengths…” he protested, almost a reflexive response, and the human wondered fleetingly whether Amanda’s gifts were met with such demure objections too.

Leaning up on his toes, Jim bent forward to steal a quick kiss, effectively silencing him. “Oh, shush,” he merrily commanded. “Try it on.”

He manoeuvred the sweater from the Vulcan’s hands and pulled it over his head, mussing his neat hair in the process, and his smile grew when his bondmate merely let out the tiniest sighs and submitted to his gentle treatment. When he was done, he took a step back to admire his work – he had been right: it did look exceptionally good on him.

Spock’s lashes fluttered and he cocked his head to the side, fixing an awed stare upon him as he hugged himself to feel the warm, silky texture of the wool. “It is… outstanding, Jim. Thank you,” he murmured, offering him an _ozh’esta_. Then his tone softened a little, turning almost apologetic: “I regret that I do not have a gift for you.”

Jim had been expecting that too, and he shook his head quickly, reaching up to brush his bangs back into order. “I like surprise gifts better, honey,” he told him over a wink. “Now come on, let’s head out. I want to show you off around campus.”

He was about to push him towards the door, but Spock caught his wrist in a firm hold and pulled him back to himself, until they were close, so close in fact their chests brushed at every breath they took and the human could count the freckles that had yet to fade from his bondmate’s lightly tanned skin. The Vulcan’s eyes were suddenly fierce, reflecting the depth of his appreciation, the high esteem he held Kirk in.

“T’hy’la,” he said, and it alone was a statement of feeling. He carded his fingers through his Captain’s hair and kissed him deeply, passionately, nipping at his lips and grasping at his neck, wrapping himself all around him like he could erase the space between them, merge their atoms together.

Their bond flickered open at the telepath’s gentlest nudge, and a tendril of love insinuated itself in Jim’s mind, taking residence there for an instant before Spock retreated, both from his brain and from the kiss, smiling faintly at his dazzled expression.

“ _Thank you_.”

* * *

For the fourth gift, Jim asked for Sarek’s help.

He let the Ambassador lead him into the depths of the Vulcan neighbourhood in San Francisco, where the air was still and the buildings curved and twisted towards the sky like the desert mountains, soft reds and opaque blacks put in stark contrast with the silvery aesthetic of the 23rd Century. The wind carried about the rich scent of spices and here and there white light flashed from the many greenhouses that had been erected to try and breed the lost flora of a vanished planet.

It was disturbing to think that probably that district was the oldest Vulcan settlement one could find in the Galaxy.

The goldsmith’s shop they visited was small, unassuming – a simple plaque written both in traditional script and elegant Standard, an opaque glass door – but the inside left Jim speechless, in awe at the sinuous architecture and the dimmed orange illumination that bounced off every metal piece with tender grace, eroding each sharp angle and edge into an appearance of softness. Many were the phrases etched in alabaster and onyx, and even more the figures and scenes carved in volcanic stone and jade and amber – in the colours of sand and blood and the sun.

To the human, it was like visiting a museum, or a sacred place, and he felt as if he should walk carefully lest he upset the delicate balance between art and history, shared memories and pure invention.

In his dark robes and regal composure, Sarek glided uninterrupted into the shop – his feet made no sound against the marble floor – and came to a stop before an elderly Vulcan whose eyes were exceptionally light, almost yellow as they fixed first on the Ambassador and then on the Captain.

She cocked her head to the side and raised her hand in the ta’al; her dark skin was painted in shapes of gold. “Ambassador. Captain Kirk. It is an honour,” she graciously greeted them. “How may I be of assistance?”

Kirk smiled at her his brightest smile yet, and made quick work of explaining to her what it was that he was seeking. Sarek listened to him just as intently as she did, and his eyebrow raised in interest and perhaps surprise as he heard the human’s request.

The goldsmith narrowed her eyes by a millimetre or so and turned towards the Ambassador. “Ah, yes. Is this for your son?” she asked, twining her fingers above her well-ordered table. “I seem to recall your late bondmate purchasing a similar gift.”

Sarek nodded deeply. “Indeed.”

“That’s… that’s kind of the point,” Jim interjected quickly, wanting to convince her; out of all the five gifts, this seemed to him to be the most important, the one that Spock would hold most dear, that would be proof of healing and security and love. “I know you don’t take the same request twice, but this is very important. Could you make an exception?”

Not a muscle moved on her face as she appraised him in silence, as if valuing his conviction, trying to decide whether he was worthy of her efforts or not.

After the pause seemed to stretch longer and longer, and Jim began to wonder if he should speak again, Sarek chose to intervene: “Captain Kirk is my son’s bondmate,” he said, taking one measured step forward. “He is trying to honour the ancient tradition of _Kaukuh-Tan_.”

A hint of fleeting surprise passed into the Vulcan’s stony eyes, and she, too, arched her eyebrow, if only minimally. Kirk suddenly noticed that Spock’s father was actually quite expressive when compared to the rest of his people – but then, he was a diplomat, and had undoubtedly made several concessions to put his alien counterparts at ease.

“Most unusual,” the goldsmith mused, at last conceding. “Very well. I am amenable.”

* * *

They were lying in bed when Jim gave his t’hy’la the fourth present.

He hadn’t been planning on revealing it so soon, but Spock was so beautiful, lazily melting into his pillows, lashes fluttering as he breathed deeply, green-tinted lips stretching over his blissful smile… There was a certain softness about him he never truly showed, and his unguarded gaze was fixed on him, unwavering and vulnerable and full of secrets Kirk could name and explain.

It was the very image of intimacy, and when he twined their hands together between them, the human was simply overwhelmed by how close they were, how _warm_. He traced the side of the Vulcan’s face in a gentle caress and felt his answering purr vibrate into his fingertips, and it was so true and so easy that he wanted it for his own, even more so than it already was, he wanted to affirm their union in every possible way and then again.

Oh, he was so happy it hurt – love coiled in his chest and made it squeeze tightly for each touch they shared, each word Spock whispered into the small space separating them.

Keeping silent, Jim leaned in for an unhurried kiss, grateful for that moment that stretched and stretched and stretched because they were on leave and they were free and they could watch the night fade into dawn if they wished, or hold each other till they fell asleep, or play chess amongst the sheets until they grew tired of it.

Instead, they kissed. Slowly, tenderly, and it was enough – it would be enough for the entirety of his life, the human knew, and he wanted Spock to know it too. So he let seconds build into minutes but eventually he pulled away, millimetre by millimetre until there was air between them again.

“I have something for you, love,” he murmured softly, turning to open the first drawer of his nightstand. “Since yours was lost.”

The Vulcan pulled himself into a sitting position, leaning towards him, and Jim waited until he met his curious eyes before he let a silvery chain fall into his cupped hands.

“Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations,” he softly said, sliding his fingers beneath his bondmate’s as he saw them tremble finely. “To you who taught me this meaning.”

Spock blinked at him in confusion, then looked down at the delicate pin safely nestled in his palms: an onyx circle broken by a silvery triangle that carried on its vertex the tiniest yellow diamond, in the oldest surakian symbol one could find. He raised the gift to his face to watch the low lights catch onto the metal, and his lips shook as he tried to form words. “Jim… I,” he began, and then fell quiet.

Jim leaned closer, placed a quick kiss on his forehead. “I know your mother had one made for you, and I know it was really important,” he said in kindness, opening the thin chain so he could hang it around the other’s neck. The pin came to rest on his chest, just above the sternum, and Spock’s hand came up to cradle it, pressing it into his skin. “I’m not saying that this can replace it, but…”

The Vulcan shook his head curtly to interrupt him, and suddenly he had cupped both the human’s cheeks between his palms and inched closer, brushing their noses together. “Jim, this is…” His whisper was low, tender, and his eyes shone in the colour of tea, wide open and transparent and strangely wet. “It is everything.”

Slowly, reverently, he traced the shape of Jim’s mouth, down his chin, until he came to rest his hand onto his heart. “I cherished that pin because it reminded me of my mother’s love,” he told him in earnest. “Now it holds yours as well.”

Kirk smiled brightly, and they kissed.

* * *

Jim proposed as soon as the rings were ready – Bones and Nyota had helped him pick them, and now they rested safely inside a velvety box in his pocket. It was early afternoon, and they were killing time before they’d go out again: there was an art exhibit Spock wanted to see, and an Italian restaurant Kirk was dying to try; but they had a couple of hours left, and the Vulcan was sitting on the sofa, reading intently from his Padd.

In retrospect, the human should have known something was off from the very beginning – he should have known from the stiff line of his bondmate’s spine and the little annoyed dimple that had popped into existence at the left corner of his mouth, from the hard grip he had on his inseparable device. Still, Jim was too worked-up to notice, and so he carried on as he had planned.

He sat by the Vulcan, cleared his throat to get his attention, then took a moment to gather his thoughts.

After all they’d been through, after all they’d proved to each other, he’d figured there wasn’t a need for grand gestures. Breathing in deeply through his nose, Jim grasped Spock’s hand and held it tight. “So… I was thinking,” he began.

 _Smooth, Kirk, smooth_.

Spock glanced up at him, looking like he was about to talk, but then their eyes met and he closed his mouth, cocking his head to the side; he obviously sensed Kirk’s emotions through their contact, and he twined their fingers as if offering comfort for whatever it was that had him so agitated. He returned the human’s smile with a faded one of his own and brought his hand to his mouth to kiss its back.

“About us,” Jim said then. “Our relationship, I mean.”

Spock raised an eyebrow in surprise and set down his Padd. “I hear you.”

“I know we’re already bonded, but we haven’t really made it official.”

A moment passed in which the Vulcan waited for him to continue and Kirk chased the pretty words he had collected in the course of the past week, words that could give shape and meaning to his wishes, that would paint the image of their future. But now that he was actually giving that future voice he found they tasted shallow on his tongue and so he traded them for simple truths that he hoped would be received just as well.

“And I want it to be official. The Vulcan way… and the human way.” He turned Spock’s hand around in his own, traced a line down his palm just to watch the little tremor that ran across his fingers from the teasing touch. “Parted and never parted, never and always touching and touched, till death do us part.”

He heard more than saw the Vulcan’s sharp intake of breath as realisation dawned, and finally he raised his head again to look into his eyes. Even if he had tried, he wouldn’t have been able to erase the grin that bloomed upon his face at the sight of his bondmate’s growing wonder.

“I guess what I mean to ask is… will you marry me?”

In an unexpected gesture, Spock retracted his hand, but it was to wrap it around the soft wool of the dark-blue sweater he was wearing. “Jim, you… The five gifts – _Kaukuh-Tan_ ,” he whispered in amazement, reaching back for him almost instantly, as if unable to bear even that minimal distance for a moment longer. “The gift of water, the gift of food, something woven, something precious, and the gift of self. Is this what you have been doing?”

“Yeah,” Jim easily revealed, inching closer to press their thighs together. “Sarek explained it to me, and it seemed too good to pass up.”

The Vulcan’s smile grew more pronounced, and he leaned down to rest his forehead against his shoulder, speaking into the hollow of his neck. “ _T’hy’la_ – you must understand how grateful I am for your efforts at recreating Vulcan traditions…” he breathed. “You do not have to, and yet…”

Kirk laughed merrily. “I take it that’s a yes?” he quipped.

Spock pulled away enough that he could look into his eyes when he replied: “Yes, t’hy’la.” His voice was steady and there were joy and pride vibrating within that even tone, a mirror to the naked feeling that had lit up his face. “Every day for the rest of my life, yes.”

Afterwards there was a kiss that held the same taste of the sky when it cleared just before spring, and then Jim opened the little velvet box to reveal the rings he had engraved with _t’hy’la_ written in ancient Vulcan script and Standard. They tried them on for a moment or two, placed them back carefully to be exchanged at the wedding, and they laughed in the quiet of the afternoon.

Spock had settled in his bondmate’s lap, playing with his hair. “Is this why you acquiesced so easily when I proposed to shield the bond for the time being?” he asked, pulling lazily at the golden strands that curled around his fingertips.

“Yes, and the fact that listening to you think in the back of my mind all day long can be pretty distracting,” Jim told him, patting his knee affectionately to show just how much he had enjoyed the distraction.

“We shall have to practice.”

“Yeah, there’s still time before the mission.” The Captain pressed his lips to the Vulcan’s cheek, tenderly, before a chuckle escaped him, puffing hot against the green-hued skin. “I can’t believe we’re getting married.”

“Indeed,” Spock purred. And then, abruptly, as if an unwanted thought had crossed his mind, he stiffened, and all his earlier displeasure returned to break the warmth they had created around themselves. “But, Jim, I foresee… a complication.”

Without uttering another word, he reached for his Padd and unlocked it, passing it to Jim so he, too, could examine the official-looking letter that filled the screen. It was from Starfleet headquarters, arrived less than half an hour before, and it demanded the Vulcan assume Captaincy of his own ship – a scientific vessel that had recently been completed.

For a minute, Kirk stared at the newly-issued orders as if they might somehow change. “ _Shit_ ,” he groaned. “We’re fucked.”

“I concur,” said Spock flatly.

* * *

 

Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Hanasiranae) and [tumblr](https://hanasheralhaminail.tumblr.com/) !


	2. Fabricated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Admiral Komack decides Jim and Spock's relationship is fabricated and wants it tested.  
> Meanwhile, Spock is a very good bondmate, and (spoilers) very much in love with Jim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who got all the exams done on time? ME! So I finally had time to finish chapter 2! It's got some Admiral Komack fuckery, some h/c fluff, and also the crew! and Jaylah is back! She'll be a character all through the new five-year mission in the next part of 100 Words, and so will Janice Rand! 
> 
> Thank you so much for being patient with my absence - this took me more than a month but I promise the next chapters will come faster - and please enjoy this chapter at last!

**_2_ **

**_Fabricated_ **

 

Spring agreed with the Academy, spilling like a mantle of green and blue onto the grounds; busy cadets in scarlet robes pranced around, equally thrilled and terrified at the thought of their approaching exams – and their voices, their laughter, filled the lightly shaking air. The insistent sounds and alien scents that travelled along with the wind had long become Spock’s home, and yet that morning they felt different, somehow, hostile.

Had he been inclined to dwell on the irrational leaps his mind occasionally made, the Vulcan would have found that he dreaded the short walk across the carefully tended-to gardens to Starfleet Headquarters, that it seemed longer than usual. Instead, he stood three inches closer to Jim than he normally would, clutched his Padd into his right hand and kept his expression – and his emotions – perfectly schooled.

They were not at fault, he reminded himself quite logically – and surely the Admirals would realise this as well. Surely they could not be blamed for a bond of all things.

In the distance, the Golden Gate bridge appeared to peer curiously at the many people that had found asylum on Earth – and it was a testament to Spock’s disquiet, that he was personifying inanimate objects, if only in the privacy of his thoughts. He shook his head, quick and nearly invisible, but his bondmate caught on to the motion with the ease that came from practice, and turned a blazing gaze upon him, smiling faintly.

Their boots clapped conspicuously against the floor as they threaded inside the main hall, onto the gold-and-blue emblem of the United Federation of Planets that greeted them embedded in its seat of ochre-coloured marble.

Michael was waiting for them by one of the less crowded elevators, to offer her congratulations and wish them luck; the Vulcan, who had long since accepted the human need for such reassurances and had even come to cherish them, returned her kindness with fondness in his voice and watched as she shook hands with his Captain and then departed, arm in arm with a fellow officer whose hair set like a wave of fire around her pale face.

Fleetingly he wished they’d had a little longer to talk – it was difficult for him to let his sister leave after she’d been gone for so long – but _Kaidth_. If they did not move, they’d be late for their appointment with Admiral Komack, which would not bode well for their case.

They were silent as they boarded the lift, each wrapped in their own thoughts while everyone else stared unabashedly at them. The bond twisted and tensed, bringing them closer.

Just before Spock could press the button by the Admiral’s door to make their presence known, Jim touched him gently on the elbow, stilling him; they faced each other.

“Hey,” the Captain murmured, so softly it was a caress. “It’s going to be okay.”

The Vulcan had to arch an eyebrow at that blatant display of emotion, at the warm concern so generously shared, because that reaction was known, familiar, and therefore soothing. “I am not worried,” he stated.

Kirk chuckled a little at that, amusement crossing his mindscape, for a moment dispelling the heavy clouds of his distress. “I know, I know, you’re a Vulcan, you’re…”

Spock interrupted him with cold fingers pressed against his and the minute quirking of his lips. “I am with you,” he finished for him. It was a truth he spoke gladly, that of his faith in Jim, in his t’hy’la that so much had achieved, so much had survived; his entire existence was proof to the Vulcan that nothing was fixed, and that if everything changed then it sometimes happened that it changed for the best, that if a world fell to ruin then another could be built in its place, stronger and living.

He saw his Captain square his shoulders and his eyes followed the motion before returning to the human’s to watch a stubborn expression bloom, steely and unwavering. “Let’s do this.”

For a moment, Spock let himself dwell on how beautiful Jim looked in his grey dress uniform, impeccably composed but in the way a crouching _sehlat_ would be, alert and ready to spring. “Agreed,” he said eventually, turning back to the door.

Together, they entered.

Komack sat, ramrod straight, at his desk; when his gaze fell on the Captain, the corners of his mouth lifted in an annoying smirk.

“Captain Kirk, I wasn’t aware you had requested an appointment,” he snapped, secure in his habitual ill manners. “I’m sorry, but this is a decision Mister Spock must make without you breathing down his neck.”

The bond flared with Jim’s instant irritation and the Vulcan immediately stepped forward, raising a hand in a very human gesture to appease them both. “My apologies, sir,” he said, allowing himself a moment to regret the fact that the only member of the Admiralty available for a discussion was also the only one who had been adamant in his dislike of Starfleet’s youngest Captain from the very beginning of his career. “I requested he accompany me.”

“And why did you do that, Mister?” Komack asked, crossing his arms as his pale eyes settled back onto the First Officer. “As you have now been promoted, Kirk is no longer your Captain.”

“I cannot accept the promotion, sir,” Spock said politely, if with a hint of finality.

The Admiral huffed, leaned back in his chair. “I don’t believe you have much of a choice,” he drawled, and it was impossible not to note the hint of pleasure that glinted on his face at the not-so-subtle reminder he gave them of the authority he held over them. “Starfleet can’t afford your refusal.”

Jim pursed his lips and fixed a defiant glare upon him. _I hate the way he talks to you_ , he whispered softly across the bond.

When he spoke, however, his voice was pure ice, entirely devoid of the agitated tenderness he showed his Vulcan companion. “The reason why Mister Spock and I are here is that we wish to officially disclose our romantic relationship, as per regulations,” Jim told Komack in a breath, quick because he knew he’d be interrupted otherwise. “According to the laws of the Confederacy of Surak, Mister Spock is my husband.”

“Would you care to repeat that?”

“Captain Kirk and I are bonded and engaged to be married according to Earth’s traditions,” Spock explained, and when Kirk absentmindedly leaned towards him, he closed the small gap left between them so their shoulders brushed. Perhaps he was putting on a show, asserting the veracity of his claim, but then again it wasn’t really that different from how they normally conducted themselves, and he wondered if the human had even noticed their proximity. “Therefore, I must respectfully reject the order to board the USS Jemison as her Captain.”

A disconcerted huff – not quite a laugh – fell from the Admiral’s lips, and he raised both bushy eyebrows at them, sickly-sweet and mocking. “You will understand me, of course, if I don’t believe you,” he said.

The Vulcan frowned minutely, caught by surprise: “Sir?”

“The bond is there,” Jim stated, clenching his teeth even as he pressed a finger to his own temple. “It is irrefutable.”

Komack shrugged a little, unconvinced, but he settled back into his chair with the air of one willing to indulge what he clearly thought to be some kind of prank. “When did this relationship begin, Kirk?” he asked.

Spock answered for his bondmate, sensing his growing aggravation at the Admiral’s attitude; it would not do for the Captain to voice the insults cluttering his mind. “Four point five months ago, sir.”

“And this bond, how old is it?” Komack insisted, narrowing his eyes as the Vulcan was forced to admit that they had, in fact, violated regulation, albeit minorly.

“Approximately two point seven months old.”

Silence ensued, and they waited.

 _He’s gonna have me prosecuted again_ , Jim said through the bond, examining his superior’s face impassibly; as it frequently happened, Spock was left to contemplate just how adept his human was at deception and control, how perfectly he masked every single one of his impulses until nothing but eerie calm remained on the surface.

 _I do not believe he can do such a thing_ , he offered, returning his attention to the Admiral. _He has nothing he can accuse you of_.

_You know he hates me with a passion._

_That is his loss._

Finally, Komack spoke, straightening again into his chair. “I thought Vulcans did not lie, Mister Spock.”

“We do not,” the Vulcan confirmed, letting the barest hint of attitude filter through his tone. “You are correct.”

“I’m sorry, Admiral, but I’d like you to speak plainly,” Kirk interjected, his fury a dark thing in his mind, contrasting uncannily with the firm politeness etched into his voice and in his features. “What is it, precisely, that you are implying?”

“I submit to you that this relationship is fabricated and pursued with the aim of avoiding Mister Spock’s transfer on the USS Jemison.”

Jim’s eyes flashed. “You’re wrong. And even if you weren’t, there’s no way you could prove it,” he hissed. “The bond…”

“I would like a Vulcan healer to certify that the bond exists – surely you realise that I can’t take you at your word.” The Admiral was looking at Spock again, lightly sneering as if expecting him to balk at the request.

_How foolish._

“Very well, sir,” the Vulcan acquiesced. “I shall contact T’Pau presently.”

It was obvious Komack had not been expecting the ancient matriarch to become involved, and Spock intimately enjoyed the instinctual disquiet the name alone engendered on his face. “See that you do,” the human said, but there was a faint sheen of perspiration on his face. He recovered quickly, however, and delivered his final blow with customary smugness: “I shall request you be tested, to prove the authenticity of your relationship.”

Neither the Captain nor the First Officer knew well what to reply to that; and though both immediately flooded the bond with questions and calculations and protests they could not quite control, they did not dare look at each other, aware the gesture might be interpreted as an admission of guilt or fear. 

“You failed to disclose your relationship four point five months ago,” Komack went on, tapping onto his Padd in a show of satisfied indolence. Then he lifted his gaze again and his tone hardened. “That, in itself, is an offence, and I am tempted to assume that you are willing to admit to it merely because it now suits your needs.”

Kirk pursed his lips, but he knew better than to interrupt him this time. Next to him, Spock slid closer by an inch or so, so now their sides were pressed together entirely, joined from shoulder to ankle in a stiff line. 

“As I strongly believe four point five months ago no such relationship existed, I’ll make sure you are watched very closely in the next few weeks,” the Admiral added, getting up to see them out. “Remember, it is a federal offence to fabricate a relationship merely for the sake of a… _green card_.”

Recognition flared in the back of Jim’s mind as he realised exactly what it was that they were to be tested upon, and he visibly relaxed, attitude morphing easily into one of cocky self-assurance. “Yes, sir,” he grinned, brash and incredibly relieved. “We’ll keep that in mind.”

Spock blinked, taken aback at his bondmate’s sudden change in demeanour, but he trusted it would be explained as soon as they vacated Komack’s office – and so he let a light smirk grace his features, and raising the ta’al to the Admiral’s face, he delivered the traditional Vulcan farewell in that way he had been informed sounded more like a _fuck you_ than a peace offering. “Live long and prosper, Admiral.”

Then they left.

* * *

In one of the smallest buildings on campus was a Rec Room Xenolinguistic students usually gathered in to practice for their summer exams; in late March, it was mostly empty, which was why the _Enterprise_ senior officers had decided to gather there in the afternoon in what was originally meant to be an official meeting concerning the new five-year mission they were to be assigned but was derailed the moment the Captain and his First Officer showed up at the door together.

It wasn’t that they were conducting themselves that much differently from how they’d always been – they weren’t standing any closer nor where they touching, at least not inappropriately – but cheer erupted as soon as they took a step inside. Perhaps it was the peculiar blend of excitement and fright painted over both of their faces.

“Show us the rings!” Nyota burst out with an enthusiastic grin, immediately reaching to grasp Kirk’s left hand only to find it empty; her eyes widened and she dropped it as if she’d been scalded, staring guiltily up at him, afraid she might have spoiled his carefully-planned surprise.

Spock raised an eyebrow at her as he sat beside his bondmate onto one of the red couches that had been positioned in a ring in the middle of the room. “You are aware, of course, that they are to be exchanged at the ceremony, and not before?” he lightly questioned, not fully managing to hide his amusement at her evident relief and not bothered by the slip in the slightest. He was among friends.

“Well, did you like them?” she asked, returning to her place by Christine Chapel’s side.  

“Of course,” the Vulcan haughtily replied, noting in passing how Nyota had wrapped her arm around the nurse, and how the latter had blushed at the gesture. “Why would I not like Jim’s ring?”

Everybody laughed at that, but again Spock did not mind: the sound and feel of their mirth was deeply soothing, and his t’hy’la’s pleasure at the general cheer was contagious.

Just then, the door swished open, and a whirlwind of red and white burst into the room. Jaylah stood before them, chin raised proudly as she clapped her hands in a sharp motion. “James T. Kirk! Sch’nn T’gai Spock!” she cried. “Congratulations on your bonding!”

The Captain jumped up to wrap her in a tight hug. “Jaylah! It’s so good to see you!” he brightly exclaimed. “Is it true you’re joining us on our second five-year mission?”

“Yes, very true!”

“Mister Scott will be pleased,” Spock observed, cocking his head to the side. Both he and Jim had not yet had the chance to catch up on ship’s business – because they were not supposed to be involved in the proceedings for at least another month, and because they had been too busy arranging their life on earth and in the human’s semi-abandoned apartment.

“That I am, laddie! But I’ve known for ages!” Scotty said brightly, dropping down onto the couch like a dead weight. McCoy followed him like a hawk, tricorder in hand and a scowl on his face. “Sorry for the delay, we had a wee problem in engineering, and the good doctor threw a fit.”

“ _A fit_ my ass, you had second-degree burns all over the side of your face!” Leonard growled, slapping him hard on the back of his head. Before settling next to him, he gave Kirk a light smack too, for good measure. “Just be thankful you’re not in a hospital, _engineer_.”

D’nevla’s chiming laughter resounded across the room, and she leaned in from her perch on the back of the couch. “So when’s the big day going to be? You _did_ account for the press, did you?”

Jim blinked twice and shook his head. “I think we have a more pressing problem. No pun intended,” he said slowly, sobering a little as he straightened his back. “We ran into a bit of trouble with the Admiralty.”

Silence fell as Captain and Commander became the sole focus of everyone’s worry and attention. Surreptitiously, Spock brushed a finger against the back of his bondmate’s hand before he folded his own in his lap. “Admiral Komack’s… _dislike_ … of Jim has led him to believe our relationship is fabricated.”

Murmurs travelled from human to human, and Sulu and Chekov exchanged a disbelieving chuckle, then the helmsman turned back towards his commanding officers and asked the obvious question that had filled the crew’s minds: “But didn’t you disclose your relationship to Starfleet when it began?”

A delicate flush reached the Vulcan’s cheeks, and even though he immediately pushed it down, he knew it had been perfectly visible – and paired with Kirk’s shifty expression, there was no doubt as to the source of their discomfort. “As a matter of fact, circumstances made it so that we did not.”

Bones rounded on Jim. “What do you mean _you did not_ , kid?”

“At first we decided to wait a month or so, then Spock got kidnapped and we kind of forgot about it,” the Captain explained quickly. “There was… a lot on my mind.”

“Alright, fine, so what do we do now?” Leonard insisted, already presenting the appearance of a far more troubled man than what their current predicament required. “Do we all testify that you two have been grossly in love for ages?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“We are to be tested – I believe Komack equated the process to the green card test that was common in the US between the 20th and 21st Century.”

Scotty laughed openly at that. “I don’ think you’re gonna have much trouble with it.”

Nyota smiled: she, too, did not seem to be too bothered by the news, having clearly concluded they were not in any danger, after all. “Yes, anyone spending more than two minutes in your presence will know you’re not lying about it.”

“And don’t forget the betting pool!” Sulu threw in, unapologetic as he admitted to having spent five years speculating on the private life of his commanding officers. “You know, the one that’s been going on for years.”

Bones huffed, clapped Kirk’s shoulder. “To be honest, I pity the poor officers that will have to deal with this mess.”

* * *

From earth, the stars looked strange, distant and small, their light dimmed even though the sky was clear; but then, Jim was used to being surrounded, enveloped by the velvety darkness of an unexplored universe unfolding before him, and the violet-tinted dome above him was flat to him, foreign even though he knew its patterns by heart.

Standing by the window in silence, he sighed softly and tried his best to quell his thoughts so as not to rouse his sleeping bondmate with them: they’d left the bond unshielded earlier in the night when Jim had Spock warm and pliant in his embrace and he was whispering his love into his skin and his mind, and he couldn’t very well close the connection now without causing him alarm.

So he filled his mind with the sight of the stars and wished for them to swallow the shadows that were chasing one another in his memory, jumbled and twisted like the nightmare that had forced him awake – a nightmare that bore the touch of his demons, of Sam’s gaunt face peering at him from a darkness that soon morphed into the flames of an explosion, flames that dried the ground until it was barren and wasted and smelling of death and blood, and above him Tarsus IV’s sky stretched yellow, carving grooves into his heart, and then in the midst of it all the crew, the Enterprise, broken and shattering into space where no one could hear her shrieks of tearing metal.

No one survived his nightmares, not even Bones, not even Spock. And he had found he could not stand to look at his pale face as he slept, so still, collected – beautiful but of a beauty that wore the marks of Ezarta’s mental conditioning and of the strict disciplines of Kolinahr, marks of death and pain and hunger – found that he needed to centre himself lest he spilled his terrors into the Vulcan’s consciousness and upset him.

He was intimately grateful that his bondmate’s telepathy hadn’t picked up on the dream like it had done more than once in the past.

San Francisco was a triumph of lights and colours even at so late an hour, and Jim focused on that proof of life and future, hoping he might take solace from it, from the image of so many alien cultures crossing and merging onto that planet that was, for better and for worse, his home.

The subdued sound of silken robes brushing the floor alerted him to the fact that Spock was up and seeking him, but he kept still and mute by the window, waiting for him to come to him. After a few moments, the Vulcan’s arms wrapped around him gently from behind and his pointed chin dipped into the human’s shoulder.

Closing his eyes, Jim leaned back against him and allowed his dear, spicy scent to surround and comfort him; he uncurled his fingers from the windowsill and covered Spock’s hands with his own, just above the waistband of his own pyjamas. “Hey,” he whispered quietly, feeling that alien pulse flutter steadily beneath his palms.

“ _Nashaut_ , t’hy’la.”

“Did I wake you?” Kirk asked then, chasing the white noise of his bondmate’s cadenced breathing to press their lips together briefly. “I hadn’t meant to.”

“Not precisely, Jim,” the Vulcan said, drawing the tip of his nose up and down along the curve of the human’s ear. From their bond, Jim caught a vague image of their sheets, crumpled and empty as Spock slipped his hand blindly around them, searching. “The bed has grown cold in your absence.”

“Sorry, love,” the Captain murmured easily, turning around in his t’hy’la’s hold so he could meet his clear, unguarded gaze, shining from the warmth and fondness that travelled across their mental connection. “I didn’t realise.”

“It is no matter.” Softly, Spock placed a neat line of light kisses over the human’s cheek and his psy-points. Between them, their fingers tangled pleasantly, a simple touch that carried the happiest meanings of Jim’s life, and the Vulcan burrowed closer to him, into his heat. “This is acceptable.”

Already the restlessness that had plagued Kirk was fading, replaced by a growing sense of contentment as he brought his bondmate closer into a hug; it was tight, and sudden, and far too demanding for Spock not to catch a glimpse of his mind and its terrors, but Jim knew there would be no request for an explanation, only his beloved’s grounding presence and the depth of his adoration.

Their connection projected a capricious dance of feeling and sensation, looped from one to the other as their image of self was re-shaped through loving eyes, and for a while they stood in silence and union, new to this enchanting exchange and awed by it.

The Vulcan’s touch travelled up the human’s arms to cradle his face tenderly, like a precious thing, and he rested their foreheads together, nosing against his face until quite naturally Jim chose to bridge the negligible gap left between them and kiss his mouth, deeper this time, indulging in that intimacy that would never lose its thrilling edge of novelty.

When Spock pulled away several minutes after – there was, somehow, no logic in counting – it was to capture his t’hy’la’s hand so he could press his lips against its burning palm. From that contact and the bond he bathed himself in his fiancé’s emotions, understanding them far better than he did his own, because it was natural to him, instinctual, to offer whatever comfort he could.

“Let us retire, _ashayam_ , that we might speak.” He pulled carefully at that hand he knew so well and gently guided Kirk back into their room, to their bed with its tangled sheets and the fluorescent star systems they had painted onto the ceiling.

Jim’s smile was sweet as they settled side by side, facing each other, and the Vulcan reached – he did not need to reach far – to splay his fingers over his cheek and temple; he did not meld them, simply opening their bond a little further.

“Are you concerned about the outcome of Starfleet’s test?” he whispered into the darkness. His t’hy’la’s eyes were soft, lingering upon his face, like Earth’s sky when the sun was bright. “They would not separate a bonded pair.”

Pushing out a huffing breath, Kirk curled his upper lip for a moment in an endearing expression of frustration as he tried to voice his disquiet; patient, Spock waited for him to be ready to speak, and wordlessly traced his implicit support onto the silky skin of his face.

“I know, Spock, I just…” The Captain shook his head over the pillow, started anew. “I never thought we’d have to prove the truth of our relationship – to anyone other than – us,” he haltingly said, tangling his fingers into his bondmate’s white robe like he could touch within him, into his soul. “As if – how can we expect them to _understand_?” he asked, earnest and fretful and raw. “What if they don’t…?”

Swiftly, the Vulcan gathered him closer, crushing his frail body to his chest – and those warm hands so readily returned his embrace, curling over his spine – and spoke into his mouth in truth and faith. “They will,” he vowed, willing to believe in luck or fate or miracles when Jim so clearly refused to let himself. Often, he had made such a request of him – to leap blindly, to trust intuition and heart above logic and reason – but this was no mission, the stakes were different, and his human’s distress was bleeding into him from every point of contact they shared.

“The t’hy’la bond is strong,” he warmly said, feeling Kirk’s lashes flutter closed against his cheekbone. “We have survived so much already; surely this test will prove far easier than the many we have undergone.”

The sigh that slipped past Jim’s lips was shaky, but the wave of that visceral fear that had taken over him so suddenly was receding, and he relaxed again. “Yeah, I guess I – I don’t know, having it all called into question like this…” He dug his fingers into Spock’s back. “I guess it upset me.”

“I am with you,” the Vulcan assured him quietly, lending him certainty and morsels of that optimism his Captain himself had taught him. Caringly he nudged his mind with his own, guiding it towards lighter landscapes, and it followed him without resistance or hesitation. “I shall be with you always.”

The human nodded and curled into him, twisting around him until he was lying over him, head pillowed securely onto his shoulder, nose brushing the hollow beneath his collarbone. “ _T’hy’la_ ,” he whispered simply, and the bond rippled with his acknowledgement of the rarity of what they shared. “I won’t let them take you.”

That odd statement was neither confusing nor unexpected, for Spock knew what it meant in Kirk’s voice and his mind, knew the nightly terrors that plagued him and all the broken lives they showed him; and so he answered accordingly, lulling and sweet: “I will not leave you.”

It was not often that Jim allowed himself the luxury of relying on another so completely – and the Vulcan would never cease to feel grateful that he was to be allowed the honour of providing such support. He held his Captain wrapped securely within his arms and breathed in the human scent of his golden hair that had grown longer, curving in elegant waves over his forehead. “You are my bondmate.”

Propping himself up on his elbow, the human began dropping kisses, soft, gentle kisses, onto Spock’s face; in quick, barely-there pecks he travelled over his nose, his lips, his forehead, his cheeks, his dishevelled fringe: little bursts of love that sparked under the telepath’s skin like bubbles, bringing light to twist along their bond. “Thank you.”

“Of course, _ashayam_ ,” the Vulcan easily said. He traced two fingers along his Captain’s cheekbone, over his pink mouth. “You know that you – we – are not alone in this.”

Jim’s lashes fluttered as he drew out a long sigh; the fight drained out of him and he finally settled, warm and comfortable under their blanket, smiling bright into the darkness. “Yeah. I know,” he whispered, with a hint of reverence in his voice as images of the _Enterprise_ and her crew crossed his mind. He placed one last kiss onto his bondmate’s collarbone. “Let’s get some sleep now, babe. We have a wedding to plan.”

“Human weddings are complicated affairs,” Spock mused. “However, I am reasonably confident in our abilities.”

Kirk chuckled, tightening his hold around him. “You mean Nyota and Hikaru’s abilities.”

The Vulcan scoffed, ordered the lights out. “Perhaps I do,” he eventually admitted, letting his eyes drift closed to the sound of his t’hy’la’s heartbeat against his chest. “ _Shom-tor, adun_.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo bondmates, right? They're so soft and sweet. I love them.
> 
> Next chapter is ... wedding preparations! Aka Spock stressing about vows and a proper wedding gift. Also, I will be introducing the green card guys... It's gonna be fun, I promise! 
> 
> Thank you so very much for reading, I love you all! Let me know what you think :3
> 
> LLAP

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, thank you so much! Do leave a trace of your passing, it would make my day.
> 
> I'm sorry for the cliffhanger! Though I'm not sure it qualifies as such, since it's the premise for the story... Still.
> 
> I can't promise regular updates, sadly, for I'm in the middle of a row of exams, but I'll do my best! I have most of this planned, anyway.
> 
> See you soon, I hope!


End file.
